


looking good and feeling fine

by invertedrainbow



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-29
Updated: 2014-03-29
Packaged: 2018-01-17 09:42:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1382809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/invertedrainbow/pseuds/invertedrainbow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ray’s expression changed from cheerful to menacing, and his slack hand was in a grip as tight as he could go, his knuckles turning white. “Listen here,” He called out, and Joel swore the whole crew fell into a hush. “I’m probably the best in the field, and probably the last one you could hire, since you fucked up and fired every single one of the best, so if you fuck this up, then whatever. I don’t lose anything.” There was a shift in his gaze, almost smug. “You, in the other hand, need me right now, so get your ass in that car and give me five minutes to get your clothes for this shoot or so help me, I walk out.”</p>
<p>a.k.a. the model!au i've been wanting to write</p>
            </blockquote>





	looking good and feeling fine

**Author's Note:**

> the links that are provided are the looks i imagined they were in, so yeah

When Joel fired that last stylist he had, it was due to his irrational nerves. He was annoyed at the mismatching of clothes on that one photo shoot they had, and that accident caused them two more hours of troubleshooting. He had to push some of his appointments to another date, which meant that he could never do it again ever, since most of his days were booked and rescheduling did not exist in his vocabulary. Ever.

Of course, he didn’t blame himself for it: he knew it was bound to happen, as illustrated with the previous firings, and it didn’t even make him guilty of anything, surprisingly (to him, of course. No one was surprised this time.). Jobs come and go, he would think, and as a proof, he managed to fire  _four_  stylists in a month. No biggie.

But when his manager, Burnie Burns, told him that if he fires another stylist out of annoyance, no one’s gonna want to work with him. It made him laugh at first, because he was  _so_  fine with that. But his manager told him that it’s a fucking bad thing, because if he didn’t have a known stylist, as much as he was beautiful, no one would book him for shoots. Looks was one thing, style was another.

So they hired this guy.

It was perfect because it was after Fashion Week and the guy just flew back from Milan. He was a prodigy, apparently, having been able to bring home some pieces from Alexander McQueen and Giorgio Armani, of all the things. Burnie welcomed him with a smile and the kid smiled back genuinely, with his eyes crinkling at the sides and baring teeth so white and pearly.

“Hi, I’m Ray Narvaez Jr. Someone told me about a shoot in an hour or so?”

Burnie opened his mouth to answer the guy, but Joel grimaced at him first and said, “You’re late.”

“I’m sorry, the flight was delayed and—“

“Of course it was.”

Ray’s expression changed from cheerful to menacing, and his slack hand was in a grip as tight as he could go, his knuckles turning white. “Listen here,” He called out, and Joel swore the whole crew fell into a hush. “I’m probably the best in the field, and probably the last one you could hire, since you fucked up and fired every single one of the best, so if you fuck this up, then whatever. I don’t lose anything.” There was a shift in his gaze, almost smug. “You, in the other hand,  _need_  me right now, so get your ass in that car and give me five minutes to get your clothes for this shoot or so help me, I walk out.”

On one side of the room, he could hear Burnie chuckling to himself, and he was already embarrassed beyond relief, so he stormed out. Got in the car. Sulked the whole way.

From then on, Joel hated his guts. It was petty, sure, the way he noticed the smallest things about the guy, like how that whole “fuck it” attitude makes up most of his personality, or that stupid smile of his that brightens up the room (or so his crew says, he would never notice such a thing. Probably.). Maybe the way he brought out the best in clothes? Or maybe his stupid glasses that he pushed to the bridge of his nose all the time because he’s too giddy about his fucking job.

Of course, what he hated the most was the fact that they had to work on close proximity, since Ray would be, most of the time, fitting him into these suits and choosing a good tie that would require him to wear and remove and wear and remove different ties out of a dozen. That wasn’t even everything.

He also had to choose between shoes: if Oxfords, Brogues or Wingtips; which cut of the suit was better: American, British or European; what color complemented Joel’s skin tone: if black, navy blue, or charcoal gray. It was a long process and Joel wasn’t sure why the new stylist was so fussy about it, but in the end, the photographer loved every look, and they were requested for an editorial for another month. Burnie went ahead to schedule it.

Ray sighed in relief after, when Joel smiled at him in thanks for a fleeting moment, even after that whole bitching.

It was interesting, the reaction Joel got from it. And he couldn’t stop staring at Ray; couldn’t stop waiting for another reaction from that stupid face.

The gentle touch of fingertips against the fabric was electrifying, how Ray would pull the jacket off gently from him and handle it with such care, running his fingers through the hem as silently as he could. He probably knew how Joel hated all the fuss about clothes; probably knew everything about Joel due to the fear of losing the job, but with the tirade earlier, he doubted if Ray actually feared anything.

Upon packing up, they split ways, and with Ray driving his own car to the opposite side of the city, Joel was able to relax in Burnie’s passenger seat.

“He’s a riot,” Burnie told him, and Joel grumbles in reply. “I like him already.”

“I’m pretty sure you liked him immediately after that rant.”

“Of course I did.”

—

Eventually, Joel found himself okay with the fact that Ray lashed out on him on the first day because the guy was actually helpful and knew a bunch of people that can give him a booking for the Fashion Week on fall. Joel steered away from the conversations regarding it, of course; he claimed it gave him a headache to even think about that far off, and his nerves can’t handle that much pressure.

“Let me scare you even more,” Ray told him as he poured the two of them fresh batches of coffee. “Golden Globes is coming up.”

Which, to Ray’s disappointment, didn’t make much of an impact to Joel since that was his demise, so he shrugged it off. Ray raised his finger up in annoyance and finished his coffee immediately, singeing his tongue in the process. He continued to groan about incompetent actors who paid so little even if he got them the most perfect clothes for the occasion of their lives, and Joel could only let out a small chuckle.

At some point in Ray’s three month stay, Joel decided that he was “okay”, because beneath that sulky yuppie was his vibrant attitude over his work. His refusal to drink any alcohol bugged Joel, of course, but what he lacked in intoxication, he made up with that glamour that Joel found himself so inclined to. He had this natural flair that drew in people, and incidentally, Joel, as much as he would had wanted to deny.

“What about me?” Joel asked, and Ray raised his gaze. “Do I have a suit already?”

“Ugh, Joel, stop pestering me,” Ray answered instead, his brows scrunched up in determination. “Just focus on your date.”

Joel was invited by his very dear friend Kathleen Zuelch, who was a producer for multiple shows on air at the time. She mentioned it over dinner with friends (Matt Hullum, her very famous director friend and Joel’s college friend, Geoff Ramsey and Gus Sorola, her co-producers on some of the shows and Burnie Burns, Joel’s manager and mutual friend) and since most of them were already in the guest list and Kathleen needed an escort, she invited Joel. He accepted wholeheartedly; any publicity was good publicity, and Kathleen was a very great friend, contrary to what most of their friends say.

“A total bitch, I tell you,” Gus would moan, and Kathleen would cackle as she sliced her steak. Medium rare, as she always liked it. “She kept on telling us, “co-produce this, come on” and we couldn’t say no because the prospects were amazing, but in the end she was bullying us through it.”

“I should’ve gone modelling too,” Geoff would remark. “Joel, take care of that pretty face. Nice pictures on GQ by the way. The suits were amazing.”

That brought out some sort of bubbling heat from his stomach for a reason; that issue was from the first time Ray styled for him, but he smiled through it all. They finished their dinners and said their goodbyes, promising to meet up before the Golden Globes. Burnie was invited by the actress Ashley Jenkins, so he swore he would be there. Joel rolled his eyes and whispered “melodramatic”.

Ray pulled him back to reality when he asked him to stand up for him for a fitting, to which Joel begrudgingly obliged to. “This would be easier if you stood up  _properly_ ,” Joel snorted accordingly at that, and Ray mumbled “typical” under his breath. “Joel, goddamnit.”

“What?” Joel asked, his arms slacked sideways lazily, and Ray tried to straighten his stance but he won’t budge. Joel tensed, however, when Ray went down on his knees, slowly shifting his gaze up…

… only to measure his foot-to-knee length. Joel sighed.

“Disappointed?” Ray asked.

“Very,” Joel answered with a grin.

“Don’t cream your pants just yet, then,” Ray mumbled when he stood up again, his fingers fixing Joel’s collar, his breath hot against Joel’s neck. His nimble fingers fixed the tie carefully; skin brushing against skin almost teasingly. Joel still towered over him, but with that half-lidded gaze, Ray might as well have trampled over his ego. “This suit is [Valentino](http://www.style.com/fashionshows/complete/slideshow/F2014MEN-VALENTIN/#50), and I won’t have your fluids all over it.”

Before Joel could do anything, Ray stepped back and cocked his head, looking at him with that pleased expression. “Black looks so good on you,” He said lovingly, and it annoyed Joel, mostly, because the warmth in his stomach turned into fucking somersaults and the feeling felt so foreign yet so… familiar.

Besides, the only thing the kid loved more than clothes was Fashion Week, so that remark was probably the closest thing he’ll hear to an orgasm.

When the wretched suit was off him finally, he said his goodbyes immediately to the crew, purposely leaving out Ray’s goodbye for another day, and upon reaching his apartment, he took a long cold shower with the image of Ray down his knees on his mind, embedded and playing again and again. It didn’t take him long to come all over the tiled wall, and when he cleaned up, all he could say was “fuck”.

—

Golden Globes was eventful, but not in a fun way, because Kathleen was dragged most of the time for a short interview about her shows, and those short interviews ended up taking so much of her time that they barely had the time to actually enjoy the awarding. So most of the time, Joel was texting Ray.

They exchanged numbers that one time Joel got so drunk and he couldn’t get Burnie to drive him home so he asked for Ray’s number. (It’s not much of an exchange, then.) It was 2 in the morning and Joel was slumped outside a convenience store and it took Ray around fifteen minutes to drive to him and hit him on the head.

Ray put on his seatbelt before going back to that convenience store to buy water, to which he practically forced into Joel’s system. Joel was hurling and Ray was already annoyed for being up before 12 noon, but said nothing anyway. Joel tried his hardest anyway to stop himself from throwing up, focusing on the feeling on his stomach and suppressing it as hard as he could.

He remembered a few things about that encounter: the cold water down his throat and how some of the excess dribbled down his chin to his chest, his dead weight against Ray as they walked back to his apartment, Ray’s hand on his cheek when they made it in his bedroom, and the soft kiss on his cheek just before he slipped to his unconscious self.

None of it was mentioned ever again.

**_Having fun?_ **

Joel made a face.  _Do I look like I’m having fun?_

**_Well, you know, you have like, three expressions. I can’t read that stoic face of yours._ **

_I’m trying to be photogenic for future clients. I’m not stoic._

**_You try so hard, Joel. Relax! Enjoy yourself! :D_ **

Joel smiled at that, just before Ray sent a follow-up text.

**_P.S. When you get into the after party, please, for the love of everything that’s holy, please don’t pour some fucking cheap-ass scotch on that[Valentino](http://www.style.com/fashionshows/complete/slideshow/F2014MEN-VALENTIN/#34). I had to beg for that suit._ **

_Hey, when did I pour cheap-ass scotch on the suits I wore?_

**_Oh, you want me to count?_ **

—

They eventually met up after the awarding, when Joel promised he wouldn’t drink on that cramped after party. Kathleen was disappointed at his choice, saying something about “spending too much time with your stylist”, but he decided to ignore that and kiss her on the cheek as a goodbye. He let it linger long enough for Kathleen to forgive him, and when she wrapped her arms around his neck, he knew he won.

“Enjoy yourself,” Joel told her, and Kathleen nodded.

Ray was outside the venue in his [Burberry ensemble](http://www.style.com/fashionshows/complete/slideshow/F2014MEN-BURBERRY/#22), huddled to himself by the sidelines. From afar, he looked tiny, normal, but Joel knew better, because this kid was a prodigy and no one could clothe him better than he did. Maybe it was a personal thing, but he tended to choose better clothing now, not mistaking his fabrics and shoes and steering away from petty brands.

They took Ray’s car down the city to find a place not consummated by alcohol, which Joel believed was impossible and bet 20 bucks for, but when they parked in front of this obscure coffee shop, Ray asked him to pay up like a proper busta should, and Joel rolled his eyes.

He knew Ray would be confused as to why he didn’t want to attend the after party, so he figured he should explain. While ordering their drinks, Joel mumbled, “It wasn’t exactly my scene,” and Ray nodded accordingly. It felt weird, the whole idea of explaining it to him without him asking. “Kathleen’s a sweetheart, but…” He trailed off, not knowing how to continue.  _But she’s a friend_ , his brain supplemented.  _She’s a friend_.

“Sometimes I feel like I don’t know what I’m doing,” Ray provided when Joel tuned out, sitting on the nearest single-seater couch. Across his seat was another, and Joel sat there with his caffe macchiato in hand. “It’s just not worth it sometimes, you know?”

“Why not quit?” Joel asked him, even though he only wanted one answer and he knew that he might be disappointed with it. Still, he waited.

“Hmm,” Ray fiddled with the sugar packet before tearing the top off and putting it on his café Americano. “Probably waiting for something.”

They continued to drink their respective coffee in silence.

—

Joel would want to think of it as an accident, but upon stopping in front of his condo, he made a mistake of leaning to kiss Ray before he left the car.

It was done on impulse; he very often drove with his model friends and they were very often female, and most of them wanted a kiss goodbye, saying that a kiss from such a debonair man would be an honor, so he would always indulge, leaning and kissing them on the cheek.

But this wasn’t his model friend and this was his stylist and their lips were contoured perfectly against each other’s, as if it was planned in the first place. But no.

Joel thought of it as the greatest accident he ever did. Because as soon as their lips touched, Ray had his hand behind Joel’s neck and was pulling him closer, so maybe, it wasn’t much of an accident after all.

Before Joel could yank his shirt to pull him closer though, Ray hissed, “That’s Burberry, you brute.”

—

“I’ve always wanted this.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“You should’ve just asked.”

“I thought you still hated me.”

“I thought  _you_  still hated  _me_.”

—

Flying to Milan for the Fall Fashion Week when you’re dating your stylist was both amusing and annoying, because as much as he would pamper you, he would also deprive you of make-out sessions because all your clothes were branded. Apparently, touching the merchandise too much was a no-no, and make-out sessions induced too much touching. (“There’s no such thing as too much touching!” “Oh shush, you.”) And the worst thing about it was the fact that Ray didn’t seem to mind the whole lack of it in the course of their relationship. Joel was starting to believe that Ray could live off without it, and it scared him.

(In Ray’s defense, he was extremely busy with the hustle and bustle of everything and the pressure of Joel actually making it to his various runways, such as Valentino, Prada, Dolce & Gabbana and Burberry Prorsum. The shows were so near each other in terms of time that they had to run in their clothes, and that’s just a sin.)

By the time they finished the Dolce & Gabbana show, Ray was ecstatic to bring a lot of the pieces home.

“You did so well,” Ray greeted with a kiss when they met backstage, and Joel sighed into it. Their kiss was chaste, and Joel wanted to give up everything just so he could ravage him on the floor. “You look relieved.”

“You finally kissed me, you asshole.”

Ray blinked for a solid three seconds before realizing his fault, looking at Joel in horror. “Oh my god I am so sorry.”

—

Joel started hating branded clothes and his job in general when he realized how much of an impact it was in his sex life.

So very often, they would be left in the dressing rooms, and Joel would be so fucking deprived that he would just pull Ray on his lap and Ray would squirm his way out of his grabby hands, pulling away from Joel’s kisses.

“I can’t blow you right now! You’re wearing [Armani](http://www.style.com/fashionshows/complete/slideshow/S2014MEN-GARMANI/#64)!”

“Jesus Christ Ray, are you actually letting  _suits_  give me blue balls?”

And Joel would just ignore him for the rest of the day, only letting Ray dress him up and nothing more. He knew how Ray would feel eventually, of course, with the way Ray is biting on to his lower lip, his touches light and shaky. Eventually, they finished the shoot and Ray would make him sit down in the dressing room and Joel would do as he wished without any comment, too annoyed to mention Ray’s hungry look.

He settled between Joel’s knees, pawing at Joel’s erection against the stupid overpriced fabric. He opened Joel’s fly without second thought, tonguing it over his boxers. Joel looked down at him and smiled slyly, finally, rubbing his gloved hand at Ray’s nape and letting his fingers feel the drumming of Ray’s pulse, fast and clamouring.

“I rather not ruin this ensemble, Ray.”

“Shut up and let me blow you, idiot.”

When Ray finally dipped himself down on Joel’s cock, his tongue swirling around its head, Joel let out a strangled noise. Ray released his cock with a loud pop and says, “Shut up before they kill me for this, goddamnit.  _I’m ruining an Armani suit oh my god._ ”

To which Joel answered with a thrust, shutting Ray up eventually. Ray was moaning against his cock and Joel was letting out grunts of encouragement, his hand making its way to the younger’s hair, tugging and setting a careful pace.

Ray was running his tongue on the underside of Joel’s cock, following the veins and sucking greedily, and what he didn’t reach with his mouth, he pleased with his hand, doing an even, circular motion that eventually made Joel come in his mouth.

“Swallow it all,” Joel whispered to him. “You wouldn’t want to get any of it on the suit, right?”

Ray did swallow, and to make it even better, he cleaned Joel off, from root to tip. That only made Joel hard again, but he decided not to think much of it and let Ray get mad at him for almost making a mess.

“Then let me fuck you and let me come in you so I wouldn’t make a mess,” Joel gritted out while he nibbled on Ray’s ear, only to be answered by a shaky moan and much shakier knees. “You want that, babe?”

“Oh, fuck you,” Ray would breathe out, pressing a wet kiss on Joel’s neck, and as usual, Joel won that round.

—

Joel didn’t see Ray for a week straight when the Oscars came up.

When Joel tried calling, it went straight to his voicemail that said, “Don’t call me for your clothes Jesus Christ COME TO MY PLACE FOR IT.” He ended up asking Burnie if he actually had clothes for the Oscars (Kathleen invited him again, and he didn’t have the heart to say no), and Burnie pointed at the rack.

Upon opening the clothes bag, there was a note attached to it.

_babe_

_[this](http://www.style.com/fashionshows/complete/slideshow/F2014MEN-AMCQUEEN/#28) is alexander mcqueen and I want you to promise not to ruin this_

_i got this from fashion week the last time we were there and i just fell in love with it_

_~~the same way i~~ _

_of course i got your clothes ready first, wouldn’t want to disappoint my very priority, amirite?_

_love and dicks and all that shit,  
ray_

He ended up using his car for the first time in weeks to drive to Ray’s place with donuts and coffee from their favourite place, and when he saw Ray, he had to stop himself from laughing. The guy was in absolute shambles, the way he was wearing a perfect ensemble but his face is crunched up in a grimace, out of stress or anger, he’s not quite sure. Ray met his gaze and shot him a menacing look, and Joel zipped his mouth shut before he could say anything, but when Ray saw what Joel had in hand, he almost screamed.

“You do know that I love you, right?” Joel asked when Ray bit onto his donut, watching the actress in front of the full length mirror twirl around in her [Christian Dior dress](http://www.style.com/fashionshows/complete/slideshow/S2014CTR-CDIOR/#45). Ray smiled and blushed a whole shade of red before nodding. “Is this the first time I’ve said it?”

“Yeah,” Ray laughed, until Joel hoisted him up like a bride and walking to the direction of the bedroom. “Joel, don’t— I swear to Christ— Joel, I’m busy— I’m wearing [Dolce & Gabbana](http://www.style.com/fashionshows/complete/slideshow/F2014MEN-DGABBANA/#6), goddamnit!”

“Well, you look better wearing Joel & Completely Nada, don’t you think?”

“UGHHHHHHHHHHHH I HATE YOU NEVER SAY THAT EVER AGAIN.”

—

In the end, Joel couldn’t make Ray strip out of his clothes because he was busy, apparently.

(“Have you  _seen_  the people waiting outside or are you just too happy to see me?”)

But he managed to suck Ray’s neck until it formed a hickey, hoping people would see.

—

Ray’s nerves couldn’t be calmed down by anything when they arrived on the awards ceremony. Joel was asked multiple times about his choice of clothing and he answered with great pride, with Ray eyeing him on the sidelines. They were both on different interviews and met up with different people: Ray met up with his friends Michael Jones and Gavin Free, both stylists. They formed a holy trinity that no team can beat, and they were well aware of that.

“Nice choice on Joel,” Gavin said with a grin. “I just knew you’d get that.”

“Well, good thing he didn’t run on that show or it won’t be much of a surprise,” Michael told him, and Ray only answered with a smile. They had a separate photo op, to which Michael commented, “Best of luck, lads.”

“Good luck on Lindsay, Mogar. She looks stunning on [Elie Saab](http://www.style.com/fashionshows/complete/slideshow/S2014CTR-ESAAB/#40),” Ray said as a goodbye, tapping both of their shoulders. “You too, Gavin. Dan looks amazing. [Dolce & Gabbana](http://www.style.com/fashionshows/complete/slideshow/F2014MEN-DGABBANA/#25), I assume?”

“May the so-called fashion critics in this wretched ceremony burn in hell if they call out any of my choices or I swear to god,” Michael groaned as the two only laughed, knowing exactly how he feels.

—

Joel ended up in the best dressed list, along with many of Ray’s styling choices. Knowing how much it would mean to Ray, he booked a suite at a nearby hotel and called him.

“Hey,” answered Ray. “Congrats on—“

“Do you know that hotel we always pass by when we go to the café?” asked Joel. “I left you a keycard inside your car.”

The call ended with that.

—

When Ray got into the hotel room, Joel was on the bed, completely naked.

Which wasn’t a bad surprise at all, but out of shock, he burst out laughing instead. Joel, looking scandalized and surprised, sat up properly from his iconic “draw me like one of your French Girls” pose to cover himself up, but Ray was crawling on the bed in all fours, meeting his lips with kiss to murmur, “The best part of my day is stripping you off, so why are you taking that away from me?”

“But the damn things kept on cockblocking me,” Joel answered anyway, reaching for his waist, their lips still linked in a bruising kiss.

“Dress up for me?” Ray whispered, and Joel, the ever gentleman, said yes. “Besides, what’s the occasion?”

Joel only smiled as Ray could only stare as he opened the cabinet where a spare suit hung. He didn’t even bother wearing underwear as he pulled his pants up, zipping his fly, then reaching for the belt. He knew he was doing it excruciatingly slow, given the inevitability of his nakedness soon after, but with the way Ray is palming himself in those designer jeans, how could he ever resist teasing him?

The tie was a goddamned hassle, as expected; Ray  _always_  did his tie for him, and just trying made Ray want to gauge his eyes out. Soon enough, Ray was yanking him using the damn tie, kissing him with my fervor and want, and Joel was taking note of that erection pressed against his.

Huh. This could work to his advantage.

“Ray,” Joel mumbles in the middle of it all, and Ray lets out a small moan to acknowledge his presence. “Have you even been fucked by a guy in a suit?”

Ray was sitting on the edge of the bed and blinking at him, processing what he just said, until he turned a whole shade of red, looked down his crotch and said, “Oh.”

They were kissing again, something Joel once thought of never depriving himself of, because if anything, kisses were awesome. Different sensations on different times, and at the time, their kisses were Joel’s absolute favourite of all: eager, lust-driven, bruising and hard. Joel was nibbling Ray’s lower lip and Ray let him, not knowing what else to do.

Their hands were everywhere: Joel’s shoulder, Joel’s hair, Ray’s waist, Ray’s back. Joel’s hand made their way to the hem of Ray’s shirt, however, and prompted that Ray take it off. Ray shimmied out of the shirt and gasps when Joel’s cold fingers came into contact with his chest, running his thumb against his nipple, pebbled due to the cold.

Somehow in the course of their kisses, Joel was able to strip Ray down to nothing. Ray was pushed against the headboard and his hands were holding on as Joel poured lube on his fingers, smirking at the view. “Goddamn,” he whispered when he pressed a kiss on the inside of Ray’s thigh.

“Joel,” Ray whined, bucking his hips for  _anything_ , because Joel was a fucking tease throughout and he hated it so fucking much. “Get on with it.”

—

This wasn’t the first time Joel fucked someone fully clothed, but this was the time where it actually  _mattered_.

Most of his flings were models like him, mostly females, some males. He fucked them simply because of the jitters he had, and not knowing how to calm himself down, he got into pseudo-relationships with a lot of people. It wasn’t hard for him, of course, given his pretty face and prettier body.

He knew he shouldn’t be reminiscing, but the last time he fucked someone with his clothes on, he remembered being so fucking bored with it. The girl was writhing against him in pleasure, her lipstick staining the corner of his mouth and pressing her chest impossibly closer while she braced herself as Joel thrust in, his rhythm steady and equally paced.

With Ray, it hardly was the same case.

He had both of Ray’s wrists bound above him, and as much as Ray wanted to touch himself, he couldn’t. Joel was already close, and he knew Ray was, too, with the way he was bucking himself against Joel, their pace matching and just succinct. It didn’t take long before Joel was kissing Ray when he came, Ray’s moans muffled out as he came with Joel.

—

They didn’t have much pillow talk, since Ray had been pretty much brain dead for weeks now, and Joel let him get the sleep he so deserved. He even went to the liberty of turning Ray’s phone off and hiding his Bluetooth headset just in case.

He took the time to clean themselves off using a damp towel, and only would only shuffle in his sleep.

When sleep didn’t dawn him in the next fifteen minutes, he got dressed to jog for a bit, leaving Ray a note in case he woke up.

—

_ray_

_im out jogging_

_will be back soon_

_p.s. congratulations on the well-dressed thing, i don’t deserve the credit since it’s all you_

_so yea_

_that’s the occasion_

_love and dicks and all that,  
joel_

—

 “Apparently, my critics say that I’m too old to model.”

“ _What_? No!”

“Well, I sort of believe them. I am above 40, you know. At some point, Burberry won’t look good on me anymore.”

“Baby, no one’s gonna keep you from wearing this Burberry suit except me.”

**Author's Note:**

> p.s. i know nothing about modelling and fashion in general is2g
> 
> title is from fashion! by lady gaga
> 
> i bollocksed this hard omg


End file.
